


and i'll hold it

by garden of succulents (staranise)



Series: garden of succulents [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: After the Epikegster, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranise/pseuds/garden%20of%20succulents
Summary: Kent comes back from his attempt to woo Jack Zimmermann... about as raw and wretched as Maida suspected he'd be, unfortunately.





	

They heard his car coming ten minutes before he actually pulled up next to the house; his speed on the highway, his tires on the gravel, were actually louder than the expensive purr of the engine right outside.  They can hear the open-slam, open-slam of car doors, the noise of bags being taken out.

Maida gets up, bare feet on lineoleum, and goes into the kitchen.  She’s taking plates down, pulling leftovers from the fridge, when Kent opens the door to the house.  He sets his bags down as soon as the door closes behind him; there are muffled zipper sounds, and then Kent saying, “It’s okay, c’mon.”

Kit streaks, belly low to the ground, from her carrier to beneath the couch Luis is levering himself off of.  Maida leans against the door, watching Kent look at Luis, wavering. 

“Thought you had work,” Kent says.

Luis shrugs.  “Called in tonight.”

Kent’s fragile poise deflates. His shoulders slump, his head tilts forward; his eyes drop closed and he steps forward, reaches out, blind, so that Luis can step forward, be there to be folded around.

“Do you–” Maida says, not sure what to say.  Her hands are wrapped around her elbows.

“Don’t tell me,” Kent says, looking at her through red-rimmed eyes.  “I know, okay? I fucked everything up.  You told me so. I just don’t need to hear–”  His voice breaks.

“I don’t want to keep fighting,” she says.  “I don’t want to say I told you so. Do you–want me to hug you too?”

He just unfolds an arm from around Luis, holds it out to her, and she steps in to join Luis in hugging him.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she whispers. “I’d be happier if it did.”

Well, no.  If Jack Zimmermann had agreed to play for Las Vegas, she’d be worried and alarmed, and watch any renewal of Kent’s relationship with him with deep misgivings.  She’d struggle acutely with the urge to strangle Jack with her bare hands.  And then she’d probably endure the agony of another breakup, witnessed firsthand, and whatever shreds of Kent it left when it ended.  But that wasn’t what Kent had really wanted.  He’d really gone to Samwell trying to get the missing part of his heart back, the part that had been able to briefly feel loved and valued and whole; and if he’d found _that,_  she’d be rejoicing.

He says he isn’t hungry, which is the kind of thing people say when they haven’t eaten for most of 24 hours. When Luis sits on the pile of pillows on the master bed, Kent wraps himself around him, and Maida, after a little bit of thought, digs a Camelbak out of the festival gear, fills it with cold water, and carries it with her onto the bed, so Kent doesn’t have to even be in a sitting position, just put the tube to his mouth while he re-hydrates.  She reaches out and runs her hand through his hair, over and over, as he and Luis talk and he cries.  When Kit makes an appearance on the bed, round-eyed and suspicious but drawn by the sound of Kent’s voice, Maida pulls the elastic out of her ponytail and twitches it for the cat to play with.  She doesn’t join the conversation, unless prodded and asked; she’s not actually good at talking about Jack Zimmermann in a way that doesn’t make Kent blow up, hotheaded and defensive over his ex-boyfriend.

Before the sun has set, the CamelBak is empty and Kent’s tears have paused; his body has reminded him that he needs to pee. On his way back from the bathroom he stops in the kitchen, and microwaves the plate of leftovers she made up for him before carrying it back to the bed and to them.  He eats the rice and kale himself, feeds slivers of the chicken to Kit.

When he puts the plate aside he moves over to her, leaning his head against her chest, molding himself against the curves of her body.  She holds him, heart aching.  Luis comes back with a refilled CamelBak and a couple of painkillers for the headache Kent probably has, then clears away the wads of tissue scattering the bed.

“I know I shouldn’t’ve gone,” Kent mumbles against her.  “I don’t… deserve you supporting me through this.”

“ _He_  doesn’t deserve _you,”_ she says, rubbing his back.  “You deserve people who treat you better.  And I don’t know how else to love. You want him, you think you’ll be happy with him, you go.”  She stops, bites her lip, then carefully says, “But he _doesn’t_  make you happy anymore.”

“He could,” Kent says, stubborn as a child.

 _If he wanted to, which he doesn’t, and even then–_ she thinks and doesn’t say.

Kit chooses this moment to alight on Kent’s leg, walk up the length of his body, and settle along his side as though it’s a comfortable position.  She deigns to lie across Maida’s arm instead of rejecting it entirely.  Kent looks at his cat with the wonder and gratitude that fill his face every time she gifts him with her small alien trust.  With the arm that’s trapped against Maida’s body, he offers his cat a finger to consider, then rub her head against.

“I love you,” he says, and looks up at Maida.  “Thank you.”

She bends her head down to nuzzle his hair–a forehead kiss feels too childish.  He sighs and wills his tense body to relax into her a little more.  “You okay?” she asks.

Kent sighs, his forehead still creased in what looks like pain.  In the other room, Maida can hear Luis turn on the tap, begin the clatter of dishes from dinner.

“Yeah,” Kent sighs.  “I’ll survive.  I’m glad I came.”


End file.
